


Kiss with a fist

by Leafling



Series: Kink Meme fills [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: De-anoning, Desk Sex, Fight Sex, Incest, Kink Meme, M/M, Rough Sex, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2017-11-20 21:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leafling/pseuds/Leafling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for kink meme, the prompt: (Haytham/Connor) "A heated argument leads to a fist fight which leads to sex."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss with a fist

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to wait to post stories on here until the New Year, but I'm impatient and don't save stories onto my computer, because I'm an idiot. On a side note: This was fun to write, even though it's totally incest and that pushes all my squick buttons. For Haytham and Connor, I guess I can make an exception.
> 
> Unbeta'd, as all of my stories tend to be.

It started innocuously enough; a few words of mockery exchanged between father and son, the age old argument amongst Templar and Assassin; peace through liberty, versus peace through subdual—persuading the wrong to do the right things, versus simply killing them and sparing the associated parties any undue exertion. It wasn’t anything new between them, or anyone meaning to converse with the opposition, and so they took it in stride. Or, at least, Haytham had. He brushed off Connor’s impassioned talk of the Brotherhood as if listening to a someone give commentary on paint drying, nodding and waving his hand if need be, as he perused the contents of his book. 

And when it came Haytham’s turn to argue in favor of the Order, he expected the same exercise of self-control from Connor, instead, as he should have thought, the assassin challenged every word he spoke, every point he made; even if he agreed with the younger. At some point during the dispute, voices were raised. Words that had just argued valid opinions were twisted into those of spite and derision. Insults overflowing with venom were flung, along with curses, across the room like daggers.

Verbal abuse was then exchanged for something more corporeal. Fists and feet would teach a lesson that words would fail to do, they thought, as they struggled furiously, very nearly taking turns in wrestling each other to the floor and trying with all their might to do as much damage as possible to the other, before they were swiftly knocked off. 

As with all effective exchanges of knowledge, a proper teaching did not come without first the teacher themselves being capable. Haytham, having had years of experience clashing with foes mightier even than he, would not let Connor best him if he could help it. And though, at first glance, it would appear that he was just as angry, just as uncoordinated with his swings, in actuality, he was not. His strategy was a simple one: copy Connor’s stance and movements—observe his pattern to anticipate his next move, and counter as many of the assassin’s hits as was possible. 

Some blows had, of course, caught him off guard—an elbow to his jaw, that had him staggering, a knee in his ribs, that effectively winded him—Connor was a capable fighter, after all, but for the most part, he held his own without actually having to exert as much energy. Eventually, Connor left himself open, choosing to lunge at Haytham with his arm cocked back to deliver a vicious left-hook. Haytham avoided the punch, easily enough, hand catching Connor’s arm as it passed. Pushing it outwards, he quickly connected the other fist hard with the dead-center of Connor’s chest. 

The assassin sputtered, stumbling backwards, but not totally out of arms-reach; trying to catch his breath, as it escaped his burning, constricting lungs. Haytham didn’t let him recover, however; gripping him by the belt, he pulled Connor forward swiftly and elbowed him hard in face. The assassin’s vision swam, head ringing loud like a church’s bell, as he swayed to the side. He would’ve fallen if not for Haytham holding him. As Connor received another hit, and another; each blow harder than the last, he felt himself go numb. Motor-controls going haywire, as his brain rattled violently in his skull. 

His eyes rolled behind heavy lids, as he just about slipped into unconsciousness—only to be snatched back to reality by an abrupt backhand to the face that sent him to the floor in a heap of limbs. Grappling to regain at least an ounce of control of his limbs, Connor swore as he was pulled back to his feet and kissed harshly, Haytham wrenching his head back with a hand tangled in his thick hair, as he devoured his mouth. 

He tasted of copper, they both did, and while the metallic tang wasn’t Connor’s favorite taste, he couldn’t stop himself from trying to suck it from Haytham’s tongue. With his eyes shut tight, Connor grasped the wrinkled fabric in his grip and groaned, as Haytham worried his wounded bottom lip between his teeth. It hurt, very nearly brought tears to his eyes—but, damn, did it hurt so good. Twisting expensive, navy-blue fabric in his grip, Connor pulled them closer together and slid his knee betwixt Haytham’s thighs to nudge at the erection there. 

Too caught up in each other; the bloodlust that echoed in the most primal parts of their minds, for snide commentary, they necked fervently and Haytham rutted into Connor’s knee, until the older felt it was getting to be all too much—that he couldn’t wait any longer to be sheathed within Connor’s willing body.

They very nearly tore off each other’s clothing, as they hastily undressed, but once their bodies had been completely bared, Haytham guided—more like pushed—Connor to a nearby desk. Joining their mouths together again, as he swept everything off the cool wooden surface of the writing table, and then hoisted the assassin onto it, Haytham felt his blood singing in his veins, as more and more endorphins flooded his system. 

Haytham prepared the younger the best he could with what little he had available and without much preamble, breached him with one sure thrust of his hips. Connor cursed and wriggled the whole way through. Demanding more—faster—harder! the assassin reveled in the powerful rhythm Haytham had created. 

They moved in tandem, kissing and biting, bruising and marking, as they barreled towards release. Haytham came first, buried in the tight warmth of Connor’s body. A rasping groan torn from Haytham’s throat, as he clung to the assassin’s body and emptied himself within him. Connor moaned at the feeling of being filled, the warmth of Haytham’s seed inside him, and reached down to finish himself—only to be stopped by Haytham’s hands on either of his wrist. “No… let me.” He said, panting. 

Connor breathed heavily, freeing his hands from the older’s slack grip, but not doing much else as he waited for Haytham to do as he pleased. The older stayed true to his word, taking Connor’s cock in hand and caressing it with practiced precision. Connor was no match for Haytham’s skilled hand. In a few short strokes, he spilled in the older’s fist before he could stop himself—body going taut; lips, shimmering red with blood and saliva, parted in a silent scream; seed emptying from his erection in thick white spurts and spilling betwixt their chests. 

Afterwards, they greedily breathed in the sultry air, basking in the afterglow of their coupling and the comforting silence that ensued. Haytham’s eyelids felt heavy, then, but the older knew all too well that he wasn’t nearly young enough to fall asleep upright, nor was it particularly polite to sleep with your cock buried deep within another. Pulling out, Haytham went to retrieve his discarded clothing. “Clean yourself up, won’t you?” He said, pulling his trousers on. 

Connor sat up gingerly, a soothing hand pressed against his lower back as he felt pain blossom there. He felt thoroughly fucked, and would continue to feel so, until the next time Haytham decided to take him. He shivered in anticipation, already contemplating how and when to start another fight.


End file.
